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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310657">A New Tradition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewhiphand/pseuds/mewhiphand'>mewhiphand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gone Series, Gone Series - Michael Grant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, drake at halloween, drake gets a new tradition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewhiphand/pseuds/mewhiphand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drake Merwin spends Halloween with his father. Always. It's a ritual, a routine, a...tradition. <br/>A little insight into my version of Drake's past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A New Tradition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>October 31st, 2006.</p><p>Drake Merwin lounges on the pristine leather sofa his mother warned him not to touch. A bowl of popcorn - salted, buttered - rests on his lap and is occasionally disrupted when he laughs just a little too hard at the scenes of the horror flick he's watching. </p><p>It's no bother if he spills it, though. His dad doesn't mind. In fact, with the way Nikolai Merwin's shoulders shake with repressed laughter, nearly upsetting the bowl resting on his legs - salted, but unbuttered popcorn - he's close to spilling the treat himself. </p><p>This is their night. The one night that Drake's father is guaranteed to be home - Halloween is sacred to the pair, a ritual has been established.</p><p>First - hunting. The younger Merwin would normally protest at being awake so early, but Nikolai insists that the clear sky and beckoning dawn attracts the best prey, even if he's bleary-eyed himself.  A .35 Remington and Drake's own Browning disturbs the peace of the 200 acres they're entitled to. The adrenaline is still pumping through their veins by the time he next activity begins - the ritualistic target practice. Natalia Merwin shakes her head but doesn't protest as she hears the shots ring out - his mother was always a silent type. </p><p>7:35pm. Movie night. Evil Dead this year, although they've both seen it enough to quote it together. Drake smirks as Scott buries a dagger in his possessed girlfriend. He doesn't need to look to know his father's expression is a facsimile of his own. </p><p>"Natalia, grab us some beers, won't you?" Nikolai calls out. He's satisfied at the echo of footsteps from the next room, and turns to his son. </p><p>"What's next, my boy?" he asks Drake. His father's blue-grey eyes are as sharp as ever. </p><p>"Saw...three. That's the new one," Drake replies, starting to get up to turn it on. Nikolai stops him with a hand on his arm. </p><p>"Drake...I don't say this lightly. I love you, son, and you're becoming a man. And..," he closes his eyes for a few seconds, steeling himself. "Your mother isn't like you or me. But she loves you in her own way."</p><p>Thirteen-year-old Drake stares. And he nods like he understands. </p><p>"Let's get that movie on, shall we?" his dad says.</p><p>And all is right again. </p><p>October 31st, 2007. </p><p>It's a cold night, a dark night. That had never bothered Drake before when he was lounging around the three-story house his family owned.<br/>It bothers him now, standing at his father's grave. Buried in a family plot, of course. The Merwins had class, and above all, valued family. <br/>But family doesn't mean anything to Drake now. Neither does Halloween.<br/>He still woke up before dawn and grabbed his Browning. But alone. Alone, and cold.<br/>He still irritated his mother with the resounding bang, bang, click. But there was only one set of shots, now. <br/>He still made popcorn and watched a movie. The salted, unbuttered popcorn was like cardboard in his mouth. </p><p>He doesn't hear a slightly deeper laugh at the gore anymore. He doesn't know that there'll be a similar smirk at the violence. (Oh, that smirk, that was family. That was hereditary, and now there's only one it belongs to-)<br/>Only two things in the world had ever brought Drake happiness. <br/>One of them is buried. The second will have to make up for it. <br/>Drake raises the .35 and fires a salute into the air. As he drops it, his hand is already reaching for the air rifle. <br/>Holden smirks. He thinks he's got Drake. He thinks he's safe.<br/>Drake fires. <br/>And smirks. <br/>And starts a new tradition.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I got sad and Drake is my favourite boy to torture so...have this! Happy Halloween.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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